


three old souls

by santanico



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Multi, POV Female Character, Road Trips, Self-Harm, Threesome - F/M/M, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 22:10:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1363522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha squeezes his bicep and touches James’ hip. Being close is important. They’re all they have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	three old souls

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: there is a scene with some semi-descriptive self harm on bucky's part. also just general dealing with bucky's trauma post-winter soldier. 
> 
> no spoilers for the film in particular i don't think? not intentionally. i just wanted to write the ot3.

He looks at her, and his eyes are hollow.

“Remember,” she says, and he nods. “James,” she says.

There’s a hesitation, a pause, something like – their bodies misconstrue one another. She touches his chin, pushes his too-long hair back and kisses him. It’s a moment of roughness, conducive with _pain_ , but it’s the kind of pain that women like Natasha thrive on.

He whispers, “It’s too late,” and puts her in a chokehold.

Natasha loses control and feels her fingertips go numb.

-

She wakes up alone, the ceiling black above her.

Nightmares usually aren’t horrific. They wake her up and leave her nervous, but she isn’t a child and she isn’t fearful of them.

 _Winter Soldier_ is the name of a man. It’s the names of James Barnes. It’s the name of Captain America’s partner.

Natasha rolls onto her side and looks out the window. The sky is dark and Steve is asleep on the other side of the room, in the second bed. There’s something insistent about his breathing, but at least it never stops. She turns onto her back and lets out a long sigh. It dissipates and she closes her eyes.

 _Comrade_.

The night is cold.

-

He doesn’t flinch when he sees her. Not even remotely. She wants to be offended but – it’s been years. Her expectations weren’t that high.

The thick, metal arm nearly crosses paths with her ear as she dives out of the way. He’s always been fast, but so has she, and they’ve trained together so she knows his every last trick.

Maybe not every last trick. He catches her by the elbow in a split second of hesitation and whips her onto the ground. Natasha manages to twist and break free but not before those cold fingers wrap around her throat.

If Steve pulls the Winter Soldier off of her last minute, she doesn’t remember.

-

It’s like her nightmare. Her dream. Whatever it is.

Except this – is real. An abandoned apartment basement, a cold floor, no sun and no windows, just holes in the wall. 

Steve paces.

“You don’t have to go in there,” she says at the top of the stairs, and Steve glares at her. Really, honestly, gives her his darkest look. “You should get angry more often,” she murmurs, turning away and crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “It suits you.”

“Whoever you knew, it wasn’t Bucky.” 

Natasha shakes her head. “It was Winter Soldier. That’s what we called him. But he was still a person, Steve.”

“Don’t.”

She presses her lips together and then sighs. Steve is watching her and his eyes are sharp, the rage still stinging in the corners.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he says, more slowly now, continuing to pace. Despite the darkness in the room, he still looks – bright. Natasha can’t explain it, can barely understand how Steve Rogers represents everything that she isn’t. “Don’t tell me who he is. Don’t tell me who he was.”

“Look,” Natasha murmurs, and she steps into Steve’s space, touches his arm and tugs him close. Steve steps in her direction without pausing, glaring at her again. His blue eyes are ice cold and Natasha feels goosebumps crawl up her arm, uncharacteristic. She isn’t afraid of him, anymore than she is of her past – anymore than she is of the Soldier – but he elicits reactions from her in a way no one else can. “You say he – fell. He fell and he was dead and…you couldn’t save him. And I’m sorry, Steve.” She whispers it, hurriedly, watches Steve’s mouth drop open and then close in a tight line, muscles tensing. “I’m so sorry that you lost your best friend. That you lost everyone. And if anyone understands that – it’s me.”

“That’s not Bucky. Whatever he did, it isn’t him.”

“You can’t force him to remember.”

“I can _try_.”

-

“I don’t have a name.”

The Winter Soldier’s voice is raw and drawn out on a string. Natasha says, “Open up,” and pours water into his mouth. He swallows and what misses dribbles down his chin and to his chest.

“Natalia,” he says, “what are you doing with him?”

“What makes you think I have a name either?” she says, inspecting him. “You’re not eating enough.”

“I heard the _Captain_ say it. Natasha. But you’re Russian, I remember your voice. So, Natalia.” He all but spits the words and Natasha raises an eyebrow at the Winter Soldier. “You used to be our comrade. Who convinced you to be an angel?”

“Odd,” she murmurs, stroking a hand down his good shoulder. “You have scars.”

“Why is it odd that I have scars?” he asks under his breath. A genuine curiosity. Natasha tries not to smile.

“They’re the kind of scars you get when one tries to get free.”

Winter Soldier snorts. Natasha’s smile fades.

-

“You…ran away?”

Winter Soldier is still tied to the chair in the basement. Natasha leans on the wall and watches Steve’s face twist with a combination of despair and joy. It’s intriguing to watch.

The soldier shrugs the best he can. “I don’t remember. That’s what my file says.”

“Your file…” Steve trails off. He frowns. “You don’t remember.”

He shakes his head. Winter Soldier’s lips are dry. She can’t call him Bucky, or James. He’s just – Winter Soldier. A comrade. One of many men like him. And he calls her Black Widow, even though he knows her name. It’s all they have of their pasts to hang onto.

“They say I stayed in America…I travelled. That I was looking for something. But they found me. But that…” He pauses. There’s something – that Natasha can’t place in his expression. He’s perplexed, maybe, confused to a point. “That was many years ago.”

“What would you be looking for?” Natasha asks. “A friend?”

“I have no friends. No family. Only comrades. Like you, Natalia.” He looks at her and smiles.

Steve looks at her, too. He knows – but the guilt is still there. She lifts her eyes to the ceiling and sighs.

“You said I was an angel. So you perceive us as angels. You know you’re the bad guy.”

Winter Soldier shrugs again. He’s casual in posture, despite still being bound to a metal chair by steel chains.

“You were always an angel, Natalia. Just an angel for hire.”

She laughs. Shakes her head. Steve is still tense, glancing between the two of them. There’s nothing but solid ground beneath them, the same floor under their feet.

-

They find Winter Soldier sobbing on the third morning. It’s late spring but it’s still cold, a chill running consistently through Natasha’s body. She warns Steve before they enter the largest room. “He could be deceiving you. He knows you have an emotional tie to someone, someone you believe still exists in him. He’s strong, Steve.”

Steve shakes his head. “He’s still…we still have to find out.”

They tiptoe into the room and hover. Natasha stands closest, a hand drawn out to keep Steve from approaching as she zones in on Winter Soldier. He weeps without words, his shoulders heaving and his body shaking with each heavy gasp. It’s striking, to Natasha, the way his body collapses under each broken breath. 

He shows no hints of stopping, and the moment before she steps within a foot of him, she hears the words, “I’m sorry.”

And then they repeat. They repeat until it’s all anyone can hear.

Natasha bites her lip.

-

Natasha walks into the new hotel room and pauses in the doorway. Steve Rogers is laying on his side on the large king sized bed in the middle room, wearing jeans and a button-up. His arms are loose around Winter Soldier – no. James Barnes.

She isn’t used to her heart breaking but if she’s ever felt something like that, it’s certainly now. James’ body is curved around Steve’s, his arms folded neatly over his bare chest. Natasha wonders, for a short moment, how cold the metal of his prosthetic is. It’s beautiful, nonetheless. The image of Steve and his – whatever James is – is beautiful.

She steps into the bathroom and runs the shower. 

-

They travel for a while. Hours at a time in a cramped car. Natasha and Steve switch driving and James stays in the front seat. He’s mostly quiet, and sometimes he weeps. Sometimes he shakes. Sometimes Steve watches him without paying much attention to the road and Natasha feels a throbbing in her chest. Sometimes Natasha does the same, she’s just subtler about it.

Steve has mixtapes, which pass the time. One Tony made that makes Natasha smile and roll her eyes. James stares at the CD/cassette player for a long time when Steve puts in the first tape, but he doesn’t ask anything and doesn’t complain. A few hours later they get to Bruce’s tape, which is comprised of a mixture of acoustic pop songs and Classical and Romantic pieces. Natasha prefers Bruce’s style, and finds herself humming along, even as James stares at her.

Sometimes, when Steve is driving, he begins to talk. He turns the music down, nearly mutes it, and talks. He explains SHIELD, he talks about their partners, he even talks about Natasha. He tells James that he’ll be safe and that SHIELD won’t let any harm come to him. Natasha doesn’t agree, but she doesn’t waste her breath telling them to be cautious.

Optimism has its perks. Sometimes, James even smiles.

-

He curves his metal fingers into hers. She feels the chill but she keeps her breath caught in her throat, waiting. But he’s gentle. He glances up at her, and what she sees is anxiety.

Steve is picking up dinner.

Natasha twists her fingers and squeezes his hand.

James smiles. She kisses his forehead, isn’t sure why. He brushes his lips to her cheek and sighs.

“You feel like a ghost,” he whispers. “You don’t feel like an angel anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” she says despite herself, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. James leans into her. His breathing becomes steady and he falls asleep in her arms. She settles his sleeping head on her lap and strokes his hair and waits.

Steve smiles at them, greasy bags in his hands. He’s quiet as he hands Natasha her fries. They wait until James wakes up.

They don’t have to say anything.

-

They become a trio of ghosts, after a time. If Nick Fury is looking for them, he’s not going to find them. Natasha is too good to be found, and she knows where to hide Steve and James when need be.

But mostly…they meander.

Something about Steve has changed, and though this isn’t a surprise to Natasha, she can’t help but watch with wonder. He’s quiet around James, gentle too, and he becomes a leader in a new way. 

Natasha manages to corner him while James is in the shower.

“Steve,” she says, and he looks up and flinches at her sharp voice. “You knew this conversation was coming.” She purses her lips together and crosses her arms, waiting for Steve to get over a long sigh. He sits down on the bed that he and James were sharing.

“We can’t go back.

“We have to.”

He stares at her. “They’ll kill him, Nat.”

“Don’t,” she says, “call me that.”

His expression grows weary. “Natasha,” he says, “I know I said SHIELD wouldn’t hurt him but…They’ll kill him. Or at least hold him prisoner until they can determine…whatever they want to determine.” Natasha watches him clench his fists in the bed sheets. The only sound in the room is the shower still going in the bathroom.

Natasha relaxes her shoulders and sits next to Steve. She doesn’t look at him for a long moment until she says, “We’ll find a way. But we can’t keep doing…this. I’m sure he’s started…questioning you.” Steve looks at his hands in his lap. “Steve. He needs a home base. We all do.”

Steve just buries his face in his hands. They wait for James to get out of the shower and check out of the motel that night. James doesn’t question it. He sits in the back that night, and falls asleep for a few hours while they’re on the road.

When he wakes up, he sobs again. Neither of them touches him that night.

-

“He’s very angry,” Natasha says as she steps into the hallway. Steve blinks at her and James leans further into Steve’s arm. They’re sat on a bench in the hall outside of Director Fury’s office.

She shrugs. “He wants to talk to you next,” she says, looking straight at Steve. Steve gives James a look, and James nods after a short moment. “I’ll stay here,” she says. She takes Steve’s spot on the bench. James directs his gaze to her, but says nothing. He presses his flesh arm into hers. Steve steps into the office. They wait.

“Fury likes Steve,” Natasha whispers. “He’s one of our best operatives. And your situation rings a lot like mine. And they forgave me.” She pauses. “After a while. Sort of.”

“I don’t want them inside of my head,” James says in a shaky whisper. “Natasha…”

Of course she wants to protect him. It’s a natural reaction to seeing a person you love – or loved, Natasha is never sure – in pain. There’s fear in his voice and on is face, and it’s tragic if anything. Loud voices reverberate through the walls of the Director’s office – Steve and Fury are arguing. 

It takes another ten minutes before the voices quiet and James is still shaking next to Natasha. 

Steve and Nick both step out of the room, Steve behind Fury, and the silence is overwhelming for a moment. Natasha wants to grab James and run, but instead, they wait.

“Barnes,” Fury says, drawing out James’ last name. “The Captain tells me you’re coming to your senses.”

Natasha glances at James and sees him swallow, then nod. His fingers curl tight together on his lap and he breathes deeply through her nostrils. His lips are dry and cracked.

Fury sighs, resting his hands on his hips. “We’ll be monitoring you. Don’t think anyone _trusts_ you yet.” Fury glares and James flinches. “But for now…at least until you can manage on your own…you’ll stay with Rogers and…” Fury pauses and rests his gaze on Natasha. He doesn’t say anything until she looks at him. He holds his gaze and raises an eyebrow. Natasha nods. “And whoever else,” Fury finishes, looking back at James. “If anything should happen, don’t think we won’t send our best agents out to kill you. You are dangerous.”

James nods again and says nothing.

-

They don’t really have to say anything. Natasha stays in Steve’s guest bedroom in his apartment in Brooklyn. It’s a spacious place with a fairly large kitchen and enough space for at least three. James mostly watches TV or lies in bed, whether Steve is there or not.

It’s best that they don’t do much. Natasha tries to adjust to the quiet. Steve goes grocery shopping and gives Natasha a sharp look, which she knows means _take care of him_. It’s the look Steve gives her every time he leaves him in her hands. She also knows it means that he trusts her.

Sometimes, James will fall asleep with his head in her lap. Sometimes he cries for long periods of time without words, and both Steve and Natasha watch quietly. They don’t ask him to elaborate. They don’t ask him to make them understand – because they never will. Natasha knows, to the extent she can – but her experience isn’t his, and Black Widows don’t go through the same training as Winter Soldier did. It’s as simple as that.

-

Natasha wakes up to his screams. They shatter through the apartment and break every barrier that Natasha has, meant to protect her from this kind of fear. She scrambles out of bed and jolts into Steve and James’ bedroom.

The scene is tragic. James pulls himself from Steve’s grip with a cry and even in the dim light, Natasha can see James’ bloodshot eyes and tearstained cheeks.

The first thing he says is “Get it off me,” and then he howls like a wild wolf, reaching with his flesh hand to his metal shoulder. Natasha’s stomach sinks and bile rises from her gut as James digs his nails into his own skin and begins to _tear_.

“No,” Steve yells, something cracking in his usually collected tone, fingers wrapping around James’ wrist and pulling him back. They struggle and James lashes, scratching metal fingers on Steve’s cheek. Steve recoils and Natasha takes her first step into the room, hesitant. “Stay back,” Steve snaps and she flinches.

It’s…their fight. For now. She hovers as James continues to squirm and attempts to rip his own arm off again. He’s still crying, heaving sobs that shake his thinning chest. Steve manages to wrestle him back onto the bed, Steve straddling James’ hips, holding both of his wrists down.

James continue to yell and cry. They stay like that, Steve’s hard body keeping James restrained, until the tears die down and the wails turn to whimpers.

Natasha takes another step inside, and then gets to the bed.

Steve looks at her. His eyes are exhausted.

She says, “I’ll stay with him.” James looks at her and then turns his head to the side, looking at the bleeding skin between his shoulder and his prosthetic. Natasha notices the blood under his fingernails, the ones digging into his own palm. “You should rest.”

Steve is silent for a moment but then he nods and hitches off of James, getting off the bed and walking to the door. He doesn’t look back as he gets into the hallway.

Natasha sits and waits for James to catch his breath. When he looks at her he says nothing.

“I’m going to fix that up, okay?”

“I’d rather be armless.”

Natasha forces a smile. “Maybe later. Or maybe we’ll get you a better one.” She strokes his hair back and then touches his cheek. He leans into it – and she considers that a success, even if it’s just a small one. She kisses him on the forehead again. It always seems to calm him down. “For now, we should leave it. We don’t know enough about it to get it off, you know?” He nods and turns his head. “I’ll be right back, okay?” He nods again.

When Natasha comes back with bandages in hand, James is laying on his back with his arms and legs spread-eagled. He stares at the ceiling, unblinking, and Natasha is caught in the beauty of his scars.

Most of hers are faded, but not the Winter Soldier’s. And certainly not the more recent ones.

She climbs on the bed and begins to wipe down the cuts, trying not to pay attention to how much blood he managed to draw so quickly. James continues to not blink, though he licks his lips and swallows hard.

“You really did a number on yourself,” she murmurs, spare hand stroking through his hair. “Steve is getting worried.”

James is silent and Natasha keeps working.

“That’s how he’s always been. Since we were kids.”

“Oh?” Natasha murmurs. She wraps a clean bandage between the metal and flesh.

“Steve wastes his time worrying for other people…he should worry about himself.”

“Well,” Natasha says, touching James’ temple gently. She looks at him and he meets her with deep gray eyes. “You…should worry about yourself, as well. If you don’t want the people who love you to worry.”

James turns his head and Natasha shifts his heavy arm to tie the bandage tight. “That should do it,” she says, and her automatic response is to run her hand over the arm. She’s seen it before, touched it before, but – it’s different now, because it’s a part of James in a less mechanical way now. Winter Soldier didn’t care about a metal arm. James Barnes sees it as a reminder of all the destruction he did under orders.

She pauses at the shiny gray wrist. James is watching her again, as if gauging her reaction.

She twines her fingers in his metal ones. They don’t move for a moment, but then James stretches his digits around hers and clenches, squeezing. It’s cold, but it still feels…affectionate.

He smiles at her and whispers, “I’m so sorry.”

Instead of saying _it’s okay_ she says, “For what?” under her breath. James shrugs with his good arm, but his other side is still.

“I’m a third wheel,” he says, giving her a crooked half-smile. She laughs, and leans down and kisses him. It’s not what he really apologized for, but she brushes his cheek with the hand not resting in his.

“None of us are third-wheels,” she murmurs. “It’s all mutual. You know Steve loves you.”

“Steve loves a ghost of a person,” he whispers. “How is Captain America ever going to come to terms with his best friend being a murderer?”

“Winter Soldier and James Barnes are not equal. You may be him, but…” She pauses, makes sure the words make sense. “He’s not _you_.”

James smiles. “Natalia,” he says. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem.”

-

James sleeps a lot. Which is good, usually, except for when he has terrors. He wakes up and he cries and it’s fragile and heartbreaking and it leads to a lot of lying together in Steve’s bedroom. Steve and Natasha find themselves face to face next to James, who breathes in deep after nightmares and night terrors that leave him shuddering. He dreams of his own feats of violence and destruction, and maybe he sees himself as an unstoppable hurricane because even though he doesn’t try to tear his own arm off, he still screams, and he pushes them away.

But, he needs them, and he makes that clear by clinging to Steve’s shirts and mouthing at his throat and ends up with his head resting in Natasha’s lap. He wants to be close to them – he just doesn’t know how to do it. Especially when he wakes up and everything feels wrong.

Natasha kisses Steve to give him something gentle to remember. What she sees from James is aggression and need and though Steve generally reacts well to that, he needs something soft too, just in a way that’s much different than what James needs. James bites, licks, shoves – he kisses like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. At least, that’s how he is with Steve. When it’s Natasha he’s kissing, he just keeps her as close as possible.

So Natasha tries to instill kindness back in Steve, in case he forgets. She doesn’t think he will, but it’s better safe than sorry.

-

It’s a slow process, though that isn’t really a surprise. But James begins to soften, his words become less like the edge of a knife and his eyes brighten. They still fear for his life, have to protect him like a precious artifact but Steve has no problem asserting to SHEILD that he needs to stay in America until he’s certain that his Bucky is safe.

Clint Barton glares at Natasha and Natasha focuses her gaze elsewhere. Tony Stark thinks the whole thing is hilarious, though his gaze softens when he sees the way James leans into Steve’s side for the first time. 

They have to bring him back for ‘evaluation’ after all. Steve glares at anyone who gives James a wrong look. Natasha squeezes his bicep and touches James’ hip. Being close is important. They’re all they have.

Natasha is left in the hall when Steve and James are invited into Nick Fury’s office again.

“What the hell is going on?” Clint hisses. He grips her arm in a way that says he’s unfamiliar with her and doesn’t trust her again – she pulls back and shakes her head.

“Clint, don’t do this. He’s not an enemy anymore.”

Clint bites his tongue. “He’s like…” Clint glances at the door like he’s afraid of being heard. “It feels like looking into my own eyes. Except it’s worse. What Loki did – it’s different. It was short. It was terrible, but it was short, and I only…I only remember some of it. I wasn’t an _assassin_.”

“Well,” Natasha says, “then maybe you can imagine. He’s unraveled.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “Unmade.”

“Exactly,” Natasha murmurs. He touches her arm again and she lets herself lean into it a little. She’s not comforted by the affection but it at least reminds her that James and Steve aren’t the only people in the world. “I don’t know if he’ll ever be put back together.”

“It’s a slow process,” Clint says and sighs. “I don’t know if he’s…made to be an agent, though. You know? There’s too much at stake.”

“There’s always something at stake,” Natasha says, voice flat. “And SHIELD takes risk. The Avengers take risks. I was a risk. Think they should kick me out?”

Clint lets himself snort. “Tasha, don’t be a brat. We know you.”

“Maybe you don’t know me that well.”

After a moment he sighs, and slides his hand up to her shoulder. She relaxes and leans in again as he wraps an arm around her shoulder.

“You love him. That’s okay.”

She doesn’t know if he means James or Steve. In reality, it doesn’t matter.

-

They watch each other. It’s not average. In a lot of ways, it’s not even sex. It’s bodies guiding each other. It’s Steve being completely vulnerable and trusting people he maybe shouldn’t trust. It’s two brainwashed spies and an All-American Hero kissing each other on a bed in an apartment with shadows from yellow lights. It’s coming back for each other. It’s Natasha’s hand in James’ hair as he mouths between her legs, it’s her fingers raking down his back, it’s Steve kissing James’ scars and running his thumb over Natasha’s jaw.

It’s sex, sometimes it’s orgasms and sometimes it’s not and sometimes it just ends up with their raw bodies pressed tight together. Natasha doesn’t think any of them are broken, maybe a little bruised. Maybe James is self-conscious about the scattering scars and the metal arm, maybe he wants to be someone else, maybe they all do.

They wake up in sunlight, burrowed together – three old souls that come together as one.


End file.
